


sometimes the abyss looks back at you

by pinkcupboardwitch



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:37:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkcupboardwitch/pseuds/pinkcupboardwitch
Summary: "Always the life of the party, our Holl. We'll just have to make up for that."





	sometimes the abyss looks back at you

**Author's Note:**

> For a Tumblr anon prompt "athos pov him getting ready for a party."
> 
> With thanks to Muffinworry for the title.

The new skin feels _good_. Athos rolls his neck from side to side, experimenting with the shift of new muscle and a lower center of gravity. He dislikes shapechanging ordinarily; he’s fought too hard for his own body. But for _this_ form he can make an exception.

He smiles at himself in the mirror; the right-hand Holland grins back.

A second Holland - identical save for the mark drawn in blood on his forehead and the shadowed tension in his stance - does not lift his eyes as he folds Athos’s discarded jacket neatly. Athos makes a moue of displeasure and fiddles with his cravat, then edges his chin up, studying the long shifting line of the throat.

“I look well, don’t I?” he demands. “Fitting for your name day party?”

“My lord,” demurs Holland.

Athos lifts his eyes to an imaginary heaven. Behind them, a third Holland lounges in Astrid’s favorite chair; he catches Athos’s eye and laughs, canines showing.

“Always the life of the party, our Holl.” The words come in Holland’s deep voice, but a hint of Astrid’s metallic edge lingers. It’s only there because she wants it to be; she’s always been the better mimic. “We’ll just have to make up for that. What are you going to wear, Ath?”

“I don’t know. White isn’t his color. Black isn’t mine.”

Astrid rolls Holland’s eyes; Holland stays silent. Athos is still grimacing experimentally at the mirror: pulling his hair back behind his head with one hand, then shaking it loose again; baring his teeth, then snapping them. One could tear out a man’s throat with these teeth, this jaw. Astrid’s right. Just because Holland never indulges doesn’t mean _he_ can’t.

“Ooh,” Athos says delightedly. “Ooh, this is going to be fun.”


End file.
